It Began In Italy | ✔️

Chapter Twelve

For the first time, I am the one to insinuate the kiss. I press my lips against his, finding salvation in the taste of him. My arms find their way around his neck as his hands grip my hips firmly, pulling me towards him. Our close proximity leaves no room to breathe, to think. It's as though I am physically drowning in his presence, in his touch. I've never wanted to not come up for air so much in my life.

Nico lifts me off the floor, my legs moving to wrap around his waist. This is not me. I do not go on holidays and make out with random men.

But here I am, and Nico is no random man.

Nico's hardness presses against me through his shorts as he holds me impossibly close to him. I break the kiss, needing to catch my breath.

Those blue ocean eyes search mine, looking for something but I'm not sure what.

He places me down on a rock, the coldness biting at my legs through the thin fabric of my dress. He's gentle as he places his hands on my thighs, the hem of the dress riding up as his hands move in circular motions, rising higher with each breath. "This dress... I've wanted to peel it off of your skin all evening," Nico whispers.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots. "Now's your chance," I whisper and place a kiss on his neck, just below his ear. A low guttural sound comes from Nico and the sound alone is enough to send me reeling.

Nico is slow and articulate in his movements, no sense in rushing as his fingers curve around the hem. The heavy blue is latched onto my eyes as he trails the dress further up at a pace that one could only describe as pure torture. Those eyes never once leave mine as the material hits my hips, my ribs, the swell of my breasts and over my head.

When the garment if off, Nico finally allows his eyes to roam the expanse of my body. I am on full display as I feel them touch every inch of my skin, every curve, warming me with his gaze. "Bellissima," he breathes, and I feel my cheeks heat with a blush, both embarrassment and bashfulness warming my cheeks.

I thank God for the secrecy of this location otherwise I fear I may be walking away humiliated and without an ounce of dignity left in me.

Nico must notice me look towards the entrance to the beach as a smirk forms on his face. "You like it don't you..." he trails off and I look back towards him. "The thrill of being caught, it excites you," he explains.

I shake my head. "I find it causes paranoia more than anything," I say, although I find that Nico is partially right. The possibility of getting caught doesn't exactly enthral me but it's the adrenaline rush that you get from it. The rush of knowing you're doing something you shouldn't, the rush of being someone you aren't and doing things out of character.

It's as freeing as it is exciting.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, and I feel torn away from our position, from my bareness.

"Yes," I say, hoping I mean it. I may not truly know the man standing before me, but I know him enough to say that I can trust him.

A smile fights its way onto his face, as though he truly cares whether or not I trust him. It warms my heart. "Do you trust me?" I ask the same question and his smile still shines just as brightly.

"Yes," he responds, and I can't help but mirror his expression. I fiddle with the hem of his shirt and Nico's smile broadens. I mimic his own torturous movements. Each button of the linen shirt is untied in a pace that leaves Nico's breathing heavy, his gaze dark. The open shirt gives me a glimpse of the expanse of muscles and abs beneath, but it isn't enough. Sliding the material down his arms, I hear it hit the sand, but I am too enraptured by the sight before me.